Joffrey rode with Sansa. Joff's mount was a swift red-maned stallion that moved like the wind. Sansa's mare needed constant urging just to keep up.
Their outing felt like something from a knightly romance, and Sansa imagined herself as the companion of a legendary knight. Though she was a northerner, her mother often said she was being raised as a proper southern lady, just as Catelyn had been in her youth.
Joffrey and Sansa searched along the riverbank for caves and drove a Shadowcat back into its den. When hunger struck, Joffrey followed the smoke of cooking fires until they found a country manor. He ordered the peasants to prepare food and wine for the Prince and his lady companion. Sansa felt she had drunk far too much wine, along with the freshly caught trout they had been served.
After eating their fill, the two rode slowly onward. Joffrey's singing rang out, bright and sweet, and Sansa felt so happy she could hardly put it into words.
"Shouldn't we be heading back?" Sansa asked. The wine had left her a little dizzy.
"Not yet," Joffrey said. "The old battlefield is just ahead, where the Green Fork of the Trident bends. You know that place, right? That's where my father killed Rhaegar Targaryen. One swing and he smashed the man's chest. Crack. The armor shattered to pieces."
Joffrey swung an imaginary warhammer through the air as he demonstrated.
"Then my uncle Jaime killed old Aerys, and my father became king. Hm… what's that sound?"
Sansa heard it too. Something was coming from the woods. Instinctively she wanted to leave.
"Let's go back, Joffrey."
"I'll see what it is."
The sounds carried through the trees. Wood striking wood. As they drew closer, they could also hear heavy breathing and the occasional muffled grunt.
"Don't be afraid. I'm here," Joffrey told her, drawing Lion's Tooth.
Soon they reached a clearing in the woods that overlooked the river.
There they saw a boy and a girl playing at knights. Each held a wooden stick and charged across the grass, hacking at one another with boundless energy.
The boy was older and stronger, pressing the attack. The girl was thinner, dressed in a grimy leather jerkin, scrambling awkwardly to block his blows. Her counterattacks lacked strength. Suddenly the boy's wooden sword swept down hard and struck her fingers. With a cry of pain, she dropped her weapon.
"Come on, little sister. Keep your footing. You need to eat more, otherwise you won't have the strength. Shall we call it a day?" said a more mature voice nearby. The speaker had been watching their sparring.
Jon picked up Arya's wooden sword and examined her injured hand.
"My lord, I didn't mean to. The lady insisted," the other boy said pitifully.
Joffrey burst out laughing.
The sparring boy turned in surprise, then let go of his stick as well. Arya glared at them while rubbing her fingers, startling Sansa.
The three of them had now noticed the sudden, uninvited guests: Joffrey and Sansa.
"Arya, is that you?" Sansa said in shock. It really was her sister. And standing nearby watching the scene was her bastard brother, Jon.
"What are you doing here? Mind your own business!" Arya shouted at them, angry tears in her eyes. "Go away!"
"Prince, we didn't know you were here. If we've disturbed you, we apologize," Jon said cautiously as he stepped forward and bowed.
He could smell the wine on Joffrey's breath. This did not look promising.
The butcher's apprentice also looked completely at a loss.
"Prince."
Joffrey looked at Arya, then at Jon, then at the butcher's apprentice, and finally back at Sansa. His gaze passed over them again and again.
"This is your bastard brother? And your sister?" the young prince asked.
Sansa nodded, feeling a kind of humiliation she had never experienced before.
Joffrey's eyes settled on the butcher's apprentice. The boy was ugly, covered in freckles, with a thick head of red hair.
"And who are you, boy?"
"My name is Mycah, Prince," the boy said quickly in a low voice.
"He's the butcher's apprentice," Sansa added.
"He's my friend. Don't bully him," Arya said at once.
Jon frowned. His opinion of this Prince was already poor, and a drunk Prince made it worse.
"A butcher's boy wants to play knight, does he?"
Joffrey dismounted and walked toward Mycah with sword in hand. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes.
"Butcher's boy, pick up your sword. Let's see what you've got. I'll judge whether you're worthy."
Mycah froze in terror as Joffrey kept advancing.
"Smack!"
Jon Snow moved faster than Joffrey. His hand lashed out, striking the butcher's apprentice hard across the face. Mycah's cheek instantly turned bright red.
"Run, you idiot!" Jon shouted as he slapped him again. "Who do you think you are? You're just a butcher's apprentice. Do you think you're fit to cross swords with a Prince? Get out of here, you fool!"
Arya watched the scene unfold, her chest tight with distress, unable to speak.
Jon slapped Mycah several more times before finally knocking some sense into him.
At last Mycah seemed to understand. Suddenly he dropped his wooden stick and ran off in the opposite direction as fast as he could.
The crack of the slap was so loud that even Joffrey paused in surprise. But Jon's words pleased him enough that he ignored what Jon had just done.
"Prince, he's only a foolish butcher's apprentice. He knows he was wrong. Why don't we head back?" Jon said, trying to persuade him calmly.
"Go on, pick it up. I remember you. Your swordsmanship isn't bad." Joffrey's eyes shifted. "Since he ran away, you can spar with me instead. Pick it up. Or are you only brave when you're bullying little girls?"
"No, I can't. I'm only Lord Eddard's bastard," Jon said quickly, waving his hands in refusal.
"Bastard. Bastard. I hate creatures like you the most," Joffrey suddenly snarled, as though recalling something unpleasant.
"Pick up your weapon."
Joffrey raised his longsword. Jon pretended to tremble. This Prince was even more unhinged than he had expected.
"That butcher's boy was beating this lady's sister just now. Why didn't you step in? Are all bastards like you, full of rotten intentions?"
"No!" Arya shouted.
Joffrey's sword suddenly thrust forward, piercing Jon's cheek. A blossom of blood spread across his face as the wound began to bleed.
"Stop!" Arya screamed furiously and snatched up the wooden stick from the ground.
Sansa was terrified.
"Arya, don't interfere!"
"Little girl, stay out of this. This is a man's game. I won't hurt him too badly," Joffrey said to Arya before fixing his gaze on Jon.
"Don't do it, Arya," Jon said quickly, stepping back.
If Arya swung that stick and truly knocked the Prince senseless, the consequences would be far worse.
Sansa hurriedly jumped down from her horse, but it was already too late.
Jon picked up Mycah's wooden stick. Blood ran down his face.
"I surrender, Prince."
"That won't do. A knight cannot surrender so easily," Joffrey laughed as he pressed forward with his sword.
Jon felt something was wrong. The Prince held a real blade and had drunk heavily. A drunk man with a sword was the most unpredictable kind.
Jon raised the wooden stick first. Joffrey charged in at a slanted angle, and his blade easily hacked into the stick.
But against a drunken opponent, Jon still found an opening. Joffrey's footing was unsteady, and his swings were reckless.
Jon carefully stepped to Joffrey's side. He did not attack, only defended, avoiding the most dangerous strikes.
Then the crack in the wooden stick caught Joffrey's blade.
That was the opportunity.
"Damn it! What are you doing, you bastard?" Joffrey shouted as Jon pulled.
Jon was stronger and the better swordsman. He was trying to wrench Lion's Tooth away from him.
Joffrey hurriedly yanked his sword back, pulling the blade free from the split wood. Jon hesitated and did not press too close.
Jon retreated, but the blade still cut across his shoulder, leaving a long slanting wound. Blood burst out again, even more heavily this time. The cut was long, and crimson quickly soaked through Jon's clothes.
The sight of so much blood made even Joffrey freeze for a moment.
Sansa screamed desperately.
"Stop! Both of you stop! You're ruining everything!"
No one listened to her.
Enduring the pain, Jon suddenly seized Joffrey's sword and flung it far away across the ground.
Arya threw the stone she had been holding. It missed Joffrey but struck his horse instead. Startled, the fine horse bolted out of the woods.
Joffrey stared at them and cursed viciously.
Sansa stood helplessly to the side, watching, her vision blurred by tears.
"I hate you," Arya said as she ran to her brother's side. She looked at Jon's wounds, the cuts on his face and shoulder.
This Joffrey was a madman. Yet Sansa was still so infatuated with him.
The shock sobered Joffrey somewhat. He seemed to realize that he had just slashed the Hand's bastard. That might not end well.
"You're a lunatic, you idiot!" Arya shouted as she quickly tried to bandage Jon's wounds.
A gray shape appeared beside her.
The direwolf glared fiercely at Joffrey. It looked ready to pounce, but Jon held it back. The beast bared its teeth at Joffrey, snarling, its sharp fangs flashing like knives.
Joffrey stumbled and fell to the ground, face smeared with dirt. He did not dare reach for his sword.
He knew exactly what it meant to be knocked down by a wolf. His beautiful face and hands would not survive it.
Looking up at the direwolf and Arya, Joffrey let out a frightened whimper.
"No," he said. "Don't hurt me. If you do, I'll tell my mother."
"Don't bully him!" Sansa screamed at her sister.
"Sorry, Prince. Today's game ends here," Jon said with difficulty. The blood dripping from him made him look terrifying.
Arya and Jon ran toward their horses, Nymeria following behind them.
After they left, Sansa walked over to the Prince.
His eyes were tightly shut, and his breathing came in quick, painful gasps.
Sansa knelt beside him.
"Joffrey," she sobbed. "Look what they've done to you, frightening you like this. My poor Prince. Don't be afraid. I'll ride back to the manor we passed earlier and find someone to help."
She reached out gently to brush aside his soft golden hair.
Joffrey's eyes suddenly snapped open. They held nothing but hatred and utter contempt.
"Then get lost," he spat at her.
"And don't touch me."